


Let Me Do This For You?

by YouWillBeWantingTeaNowISuppose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Sam Winchester, Episode 23, Fluff, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Rough Sex, Sam Winchester Loves Dean Winchester, Season 8, Smut, The Trials, Top Sam Winchester, the bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouWillBeWantingTeaNowISuppose/pseuds/YouWillBeWantingTeaNowISuppose
Summary: Dean was able to get to Sam and stop him before he could finish the Trials.A mess of words occupy the space between them, though. Dean can't and won't let his weary brother carry the load alone.My interpretation of what came after Season 8's Episode Finale, "Sacrifice".I do not own any of the characters :)NOTE: DO NOT POST/RE-POST MY WORK ANYWHERE. Thank you.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 108





	Let Me Do This For You?

“You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again. What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again? Who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel? Another vampire? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother…”

“Hold on, hold on. Do you seriously think that? Because none of it, _none_ of it is true...Listen man, I know we've had our disagreements. Okay, hell, I know I've said some junk that sent you back on your heels. But Sammy, come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk _because of you_. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you. It has never been like that, ever. I need you to see that. I'm begging you.”

“How do I stop?”

“Just let it go.”

“I can't. It's in me, Dean. You don't know what this feels like.”

“Hey, listen, we'll figure it out, okay, just like we always do. Come on, let it go, okay? Let it go, little brother.”

* * *

Dean parks the car in a different way than he usually does. Slow and steady. There’s no squeal of tires to echo through the Bunker’s basement tunnel, no rush of wind to ruffle through Dean’s hair. The windows are all rolled shut. The air inside the Impala is warm and still. It surrounds them both completely.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“...Dean.”

“Yeah...Sam, just trust me, please? You’re hurt and I just want to help. Right now...let me, okay?”

Sam sighs softly, in pain inside and out, and that’s all Dean needs to hear from him right now, all he needs to know that it’s okay for him to take care of them tonight.

* * *

They make it to the shower room. Slowly. Steadily.

Dean knows they’ve been down this road before. He’s intimately familiar with the physical hurt, with the delicate art of creating mental blocks to hold in the hurt so that it doesn’t overwhelm. So, he’s not going to hold up Sam more tightly than necessary to help him walk and he’s not going to say too much, or speak too loudly, either. They’ve been down this road before, stitching each other up, changing bandages and rising at all hours to check on high temperatures and fevers, helping to realign each others’ broken bones. Dean has lived, _lives_ , with worry for Sam humming constantly under his skin. He knows Sam has a similar unrest running through his core. In his case, it’s made up of many kinds of searches for independence, for family and friends, for recognition and higher purpose.

It won’t end for them, this drive to make things okay.

Dean knows all this, so he undresses them both. He unbuckles their belts and pushes down first his own jeans and boxers, and then Sam’s, as gently as he can. Toes off their boots. Coaxes Sam to raise his arms so that he can pull off his shirt layers, softly speaking _It’s me, Sam, it’s me, okay? Let me do this for you_ into his ear.

Dean can’t recall the last time he’s ever been so gentle with anyone, let alone his brother. His foremost instinct has always been to jump into the fray, whether he was afraid or not. He used to be jealous of the way Sam's mind worked, of the careful analysis he used to break a case down and do the job, and still make time to comfort a victim. Dean wasn’t allowed to nurture that part of himself. John taught him the hard way that wasting time could result in death, or worse.

But John isn’t here anymore.

Neither is Bobby. Or Ellen and Jo, and the countless other people they have loved and lost over the years.

Castiel is gone. Kevin’s in the wind.

It’s just the two of them now. Dean and Sam Winchester.

Sam and Dean.

He likes to think that it is the same ‘take charge’ attitude he’s always clung to that makes him brave in this moment. It’s okay if it isn’t, though. He just needs Sam to know that he isn’t alone.

* * *

Dean tears off a piece of his shirt to wrap around Sam’s hand and then pushes him toward the white tiles. He turns on the shower, testing the water to make sure it isn’t too hot. There’s a washcloth nearby. Dean grabs it.

He doesn’t think too much. He starts with Sam’s hair and makes his way down, washing away grime, brushing his bare hands over the tender spots that cause Sam to hiss through his teeth and suck in his stomach. When he kneels to get to Sam’s feet, Sam places one hand on his head and Dean knows immediately that this is good, Sam knows that his big brother is here. He squeezes Sam’s calf in reply, washes his feet, and then stands up so he can scrub himself clean quickly.

The shower is turned off.

Dean leans into Sam and puts his hand up to his cheek, murmuring quietly, “You still with me, Sam?”

Sam lists forward, his eyes fluttering open and closed. He’s so pale, so far from the bronzed, happy Sam that he should be that something painful lurches in Dean’s chest.

“Look, I’m going to walk us to your room and...you’re doing so well, Sammy. Just a little bit longer, okay?”

* * *

Slow and steady.

A hastily-grabbed towel soaks up the water from their bodies. A kick to their pile of clothes by the doorway clears the way forward and Sam plasters himself to Dean’s side as they walk. Dean wouldn’t have it any other way, wouldn’t trade places with anyone else in the entire world.

Slow.

Sam groans when they reach his room, halting their progress when he puts a hand up to the door-frame.

“Oh.”

Dean turns around the corner without question.

Steady.

He pushes Sam through his own room, toward the bed with the blue cover and white sheets and a single pillow. They land heavily on the bed, Sam lying on his stomach and Dean with his arm still circling Sam’s shoulders. Dean tries to push him to lie on his back, but Sam groans again. 

“Sam, you gotta let me move you.” Another groan, this one muffled as Sam breathes harshly into the pillow and his legs start to shake.

 _No_. Dean’s not...He needs Sam to stay with him. There’s no way he’s letting the trauma and exhaustion of the past few days twist Sam into a panic. Because he knows. The red-rimmed eyes and inability to stand upright or talk coherently tell Dean everything he needs to know about how far all of this is embedded in Sam’s head, how far he’s had to push himself to make amends. Dean’s okay with it, with Sam not talking, because he can be there for him. Dean won’t go anywhere, so he’s going to have to make that very clear in a way that Sam can understand.

A note of pleading enters his voice, gruff and soft. “I...please, Sammy?”

Sam’s breathing doesn’t change, but his legs slow down their restless movements just a bit. It’s enough for Dean to think that this just might work.

“There you go. So good for me. You know I’m not going anywhere, right? You know this, Sammy.” The breaths puffing against the side of Dean's face slow down a little. Good.

“I’m here, and I just need you to turn your body for me, please, there you go. Great, Sammy.” A shoulder turn from Sam puts them almost where they need to be. “Not going anywhere, Sam...I just want to get to your hand. You cut your hand, but I’m going to help, okay? Thank you, baby boy.” The endearment that slips out of Dean’s mouth gets them the rest of the way easily, Sam on his side facing Dean, his injured hand held out between them. Dean wastes no time reaching out to his bedside drawer for a suturing kit, making sure to place one of his legs between both of Sam’s so that they’re connected as much as possible.

* * *

He keeps up the soft reassurance as he works, praising Sam through the pinch and pull of the needle. He keeps his tone light and Sam tracks him through slow eye blinks as sticky blood is wiped away with some gauze and a dab of alcohol.

Dean wants Sam to fall asleep like this, watching him.

He finishes within a few more minutes, tossing away the kit and some messy cotton pieces, and shifts towards his brother. He’s not going anywhere, he tells Sam as he moves the bed cover over them, _so, please, go to sleep with me?_

* * *

Sam obliges him for a good thirty minutes before he’s restless again, bunching the bed sheets with his tall body. Dean is roused fully from sleep when Sam lets out a hoarse shout.

“Shit, Sam? Sam…” A pained moan answers him, so Dean scrambles to put his hands on every part of Sam that he can reach. He roams his hands all over Sam’s back and feels the heat from his soreness.

“Dean?” Sam chokes out and, fuck, it sounds like his brother is drowning in something. When Dean strokes his hand up to Sam’s face, turning it toward himself so he can look, _really_ look at him, he sees that Sam is horribly shaken up. It scares Dean.

“Sam? It’s me. It’s just me, baby brother.”

* * *

They hurtled full frontal into this mess, into these trials that banged up his baby brother more than either of them could have anticipated, and, _god_ , Dean can’t think of any other way to heal him than to let Sam’s hurt sink into him too...to let them be as close to each other as possible.

“Dean, please,” Sam whispers, “ _please_.” He raises his upper body over Dean’s chest, crying out and seeking relief. He wants Dean to end this, and Dean...well, there’s no way in heaven or hell that he can ignore this cry for help. He knows Sam better than he knows himself, first as the chubby toddler that used to follow him everywhere, then as the awkwardly smart, moody teen, and now as his hunter partner. His brother on earth and all through the time in the Cage, purgatory, and hell. He knows Sam’s guilt and his immense capacity for love.

Right now, Sam is asking for more than Dean has ever given up for him.

The road before never bared them open completely like this, exposed in all the ways that matter, that hurt.

Dean tried and failed to do the right thing by Lisa and Ben. He would have really done it, the family man role, if it hadn’t been for Sam. One whiff of their unfinished path and he’d been jonesing hard to ride with his brother once more, even through Samuel’s crap and all the other crap that followed, and past the broken promise to Lisa _that he just wanted to protect them, that he could be theirs and be with his brother_.

Dean hadn’t lied to them—how could he have known that his brother was alive, seemingly back from the dead? No, he hadn’t lied. Just mistakenly assumed that he could manage a new normal when, in fact, the only normal that could have ever handled what came after was _this_ , this constant between Sam and himself that had been tested over and over again.

Dean’s not going to put their connection over the line this time. He’s going to trust in it, to give himself up to it.

* * *

Every part of Sam is big and tense like this, hovering over his body. Dean takes in a deep breath, hoping to calm himself for the fucking big leap he’s about to take and so that Sam will hear him through the noise in his head and follow his lead.

“Sammy?” Easy and gentle is going to do it.

“Mhmm?” Sam’s voice sounds broken and small and exhausted.

“I’m not the best...look, I’m nothing next to you. Sam, look at you, baby boy, look at how brave you’ve been. Not just for these trials, but...fuck, everything. You’ve been so strong.” Dean moves, bringing his lips right up to Sam’s face so that he can mouth over his nose, his eyes, his cheeks. “I can do what I do because of you, Sam. Because I know that you’re here to back me up when I need you to. And I love that we’re like that, Sammy. That we’re brothers.”

A thrill goes through Dean when he sees that Sam isn’t pushing away from him, but actually bringing his own body closer, hugging him. He inserts his hand between their straining torsos and worms it down to Sam’s half-hard cock.

“...you can be in me, if you want.”

“De?” A little higher pitched just then, a little breathless in the good way.

“You can take what you need, Sammy. Please. I know you want to, and I want you to.”

Sam sighs loudly into Dean’s mouth, pushes his hips into Dean’s hand. _Oh, baby boy_. “D-Dean...please?”

“Yeah, Sam, go ahead. Let me...let me do this for you.”

* * *

They help each other.

Dean settles on his back and spreads his legs so that Sam can come to rest between his thighs, body heaving, hands scrabbling for purchase anywhere and everywhere, face rooting around his neck. Dean feels warm, so warm, and how did he think he would be able to handle this? They’re just starting to get close and already Dean feels higher than he’s ever been before.

“Sam, god, _yes_ …” Sam is rubbing their cocks together clumsily and moaning loudly.

Dean feels himself get wet and bucks a little to feel the friction where he wants it the most. He doesn’t want to hurt Sam anymore than he already is, so he tries to temper the moment. “Sammy, we can slow down a bit, okay?”

“Need you, Dean.”

“Okay, okay, baby, I’ve got you. Here, bring your hands up.” He guides Sam to touch on his chest, to feel him responding to their movements. They pull at Dean’s hard nipples together, Sam’s big hands covering his pecs entirely as his nails scratch at his skin. “It’s good, Sammy, so good—mmph!” Sam bites down on his bottom lip. Dean opens his mouth instantly. They lick and roil and suck on each other, moving fast, then languidly, slowing down and then increasing their pace again. There’s no method to their togetherness. It’s simple and bare, messy as the bed starts to creak and Dean feels precome smear all over his groin and stomach.

He’s a man’s man, has always been, and women have loved him for it. There’s never been the option or the time to explore what it would feel like to have the hefty length of another man sliding in and out of him. This right here, with _his_ Sam, is different from all that.

Sam begins to smack at Dean’s chest, roughly uncoordinated. Dean sinks into it. He moves his hands downwards, smoothing along Sam’s sides while he nudges at his neck with his lips. He gets to Sam’s ass and grips it tight, pushing and pulling his cheeks apart. Sam plays into his hands and Dean can feel his heavy balls as they swing along the seam of his pussy. Dean guides him, feeling it, exhilarating in the stretch of Sam’s bulbous cockhead pushing into him, the deep groan his brother lets out when he’s finally seated inside, all eight thick inches of him.

There’s no holding back after that.

Sam pushes forward erratically, repeatedly. Dean tightens his knees around his baby brother’s hips and holds on for the fast pounding that follows.

Dean and Sam.

Sam and Dean.

There’s a small, wet smack from their groins every time Sam retreats. At any other time, Dean would be embarrassed that his arousal could be so easily evident and so loud. There’s no space for shame in this moment between them. Sam is needy, wanting. Something deep within Dean is responding to that. More than anything right now, Dean wants these two calls to meet and to touch. With his thrusting hips and his enveloping arms, he urges Sam. _Take me, Sammy. Take what you need_. Sam doesn’t stop, just keeps going, but he’s babbling now, muffled and throaty phrases that turn Dean on so much.

“...so wet, De, ahh…”, “don’t wanna stop”, “nnghh, please...more”

Dean can’t imagine what Sam is feeling, sore and still choosing to fuck hard into him, but he knows for himself that he doesn’t want the rubbing sensation to end. They start to buck up and down on the mattress, dislodging the pillow and causing the headboard to bang against the wall. It’s so, so good. Dean wants so badly for this comfort to last for Sam. He would lie here all night if need be to make sure that Sam is okay. He can’t think of anything more intimate for the two of them than to take his brother into his own body, to give to him this part of himself that he’s never had anyone else enter. 

Soon, they’re both on the edge of orgasm, grunting and groping at each other. Sam’s balls slap against his taint with each thrust until Dean feels like he’s about to burst apart. “Yeah, Sam, come with me, baby boy...mm..” Sam hears him and increases his pace impossibly faster. It’s all sloppy and rough and just _them_ , here, in this Bunker that they’re starting to make their own, where they can rest safe and catch their breath for a second...

Dean climaxes before he’s aware of it, Sam’s stomach grinding right over the sensitive head of his cock. His orgasm draws out as Sam continues to fuck him, his own moans getting louder and louder before he, too, falls over the edge into oblivion.

* * *

Nobody can deny them this or take it away. It’s done.

Fucking incredible.

They tremble through the aftershocks, trying to get back to their slow and steady start. Sam has settled entirely onto Dean, fully tapped out and breathing hard. Dean isn’t faring much better physically, but his gentle rub-through all over Sam’s sweaty shoulders, back, and ass tell him that he’s done his job, that he’s taken care of Sam. His baby brother is calmer, shivering a little less with each minute that goes by. Dean wants him to rest right where he is with his cock softening inside of Dean’s aching pussy. 

After everything they’ve been through, Sam deserves to be okay. Dean murmurs that to him while sliding his fingers through the damp baby hairs gathered at the base of his skull.

 _Let me do that for you, Sammy. You deserve it_.

* * *

They’ll have to talk later on.

That’s okay.

Slow and steady will do it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!  
> Best,  
> Marzbarz


End file.
